


Linked

by helens78



Series: Linked [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-25
Updated: 2003-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs to go home sometimes, even Geils.  Maybe it doesn't always have to be a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Billiards

**Author's Note:**

> Geils and Quinn are both minor characters in the "Challenge" arc, but have managed to spin off their own stories. It's very weird for me having original fiction here, but the Chiaroscuro collection wouldn't be complete without them.

Half the lights are burnt out. It's been like that for as long as Geils can remember, and he loves the atmosphere. He waves at the bartender and walks through the door to the billiard room; he can already hear the clack of balls hitting balls.

Only one man's here this early in the evening. He's a little taller than Geils, better built, has shoulder-length dark brown hair falling over his face as he lines up his shot, and Geils remembers the way he sounds when he's got one arm twisted up behind his back and he's being fucked in the back of his van. Geils takes a cue off the wall and heads over, grinning. "Quinn. Still working on that bank shot?"

"Slumming again, Dave?" Quinn doesn't stand up, but he looks up under his eyebrows and grins back. "How's it going?"

"Same as ever. You?"

"What do you think?" Quinn takes a shot, and the fourteen ball slams hard into the pocket just in front of Geils's crotch. Geils doesn't jump back; he's done that once or twice, but not this time. He shakes his head at Quinn.

Quinn stands up and rests his cue against the table. He walks around to Geils and regards him for a moment. "You look good," he says at last. "Not too tight. Not too loose. Things been going well lately?"

"Yeah. Going better now, I think."

Quinn just laughs, shaking his head. "Cart before the horse. As usual."

"You might as well get used to the idea. Sometime before the night's out we're going to be back in your van and I'm going to be fucking you into the floor."

"Sold my van," Quinn smirks. He turns on his heel and heads over to the jukebox. "Gonna have to come up with another fantasy to beat off to tonight." He feeds a few quarters into the jukebox; a blues riff comes off scratched vinyl, and he makes his way back to the pool table. "Come on. Rack 'em for me."

Geils bends down and takes the rack off the hook under the table; he collects the balls from their pockets and drops them in the triangle, remembering to center the eight-ball. "Need someone to play with?" he asks.

"Need someone to play _against_ ," Quinn corrects. "You think you can match up against me?"

"At the table? No. C'mon. We both know that much." Geils walks around and plants himself in front of Quinn, not quite touching, but close to it. "Tell you what. Why don't we fuck the small talk? We're going to end up somewhere tonight, and one or the other of us is going to end up wearing bruises."

"Maybe both," Quinn suggests.

"Maybe both," Geils agrees, "so it's just a matter of time, isn't it, and who pins who first."

"Is that all it is? Who gets pinned first?" Quinn flashes Geils another smirk. "I think it's more about who wants it more. You came here. I'm assuming you were looking for me, as there's no one else here. I think I've got an advantage."

"Christ." Geils shakes his head. "Yeah. I'm not gonna beg for it, but yeah, I could use something easy. Loose. No strings. Something where some furniture gets busted up, or we run each other into walls."

"You could just say so." Quinn draws a hand over Geils's hip. "I'm not sure I like being thought of as 'easy', or 'loose', but the rest of it sounds good. You don't have to beg." He grins. "Not unless you feel like it."

"Fucker." Geils grabs Quinn by the wrist and yanks him close, shoving a knee between his legs -- none too gently; Quinn grunts and winces. "I could take you right here over the table if I wanted, and you'd roll over for me."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees, "but then I'd take it out of your ass when you least expect it. Follow you back to your car and fuck you over the hood, maybe."

"That's not what I'd call unexpected."

"Yeah? What would you call it?"

"A good fucking idea."

Quinn's eyes light up, and he raises his hands as Geils grabs at his shoulders. He raises them a split-second too late, though, and Geils is braced well; he shoves Quinn onto his back on the table, knocking Quinn's head against the felt surface.

"Right here? Just like this?" Geils growls.

"Close the door first." Quinn's eyes are dark. "If we break anything, it's on your dime."

"You're on." Geils shoves back and strides back to the door; he nods at the bartender, who rolls his eyes, and locks the door down. Then it's back to the jukebox, where he turns up the music. Quinn hasn't moved an inch. "Not going to put up a fight?" Geils asks.

"Get over here and ask that again."

Geils grins and walks over; Quinn launches himself off the pool table and straight at Geils, but Geils is braced and ready, while Quinn is still off-balance. Geils simply grabs Quinn by the throat and slams him back on the table, knocking the wind out of him. "And I thought you didn't want to be easy," Geils says. Quinn's squirming under his hand, but it does no good; Geils has all the leverage he needs. "Be a good boy and take your pants down, and I'll lube you up first."

"Asshole," Quinn spits. He tries to push against Geils's chest, and Geils lets him. But it's only to twist Quinn over and shove Quinn back to the table face-down. "Shit," Quinn moans. "Fucker."

Geils keeps Quinn pinned by the neck with one hand and wrestles him out of his pants with the other. He gives a heavy shove to the back of Quinn's neck. "Lie still unless you want me to fuck you raw."

"I'm gonna enjoy having you on the hood of your car," Quinn growls. "You think about that and enjoy this while it lasts."

"Gonna enjoy every second of it," Geils agrees, unzipping his pants and slicking a condom on. "You want it this rough, or you want me to lube you up?"

"Bastard. You do whatever the fuck you want. It's what you'll get when I'm fucking you."

Geils digs the lube out; he wants it rough, but not so rough he can't get in. "Well, let's not posture too much here, huh?" He tears the packet open and drizzles lube over his fingers, then slides them into Quinn's ass and _twists_.

" _Fuck_ ," Quinn spits. He pushes back against Geils's fingers and groans. "No subtlety. No finesse."

"Like you want that." Geils puts a hand on the small of Quinn's back and shoves in -- two rocking pushes and a sharp thrust, and he's rooted, panting.

"I want whatever you've got," Quinn growls. "Don't just stand there, you fucking cocksucker, _hurt me._ "

Geils lunges forward, intent on doing exactly that. Quinn growls into the table, pressing his face against the felt, his hands scrambling for purchase in the green material and trying to hold on. He leaves white trails behind as his fingernails scrape the surface of the table. Geils is ruthless, steady, growling dangerously above Quinn's head as he presses in, rough, demanding strokes coming one after another. "Fuck," Geils breathes, "scream for me, Quinn."

"Fuck off." Quinn half-laughs, half-gasps, and when Geils slams in again, he clenches his teeth hard and half-howls, too. " _Fuck_ , Geils, that's it, _hurt me._ "

"If this--" Geils grunts as he slams in again-- "isn't good enough--" and he fists his hand in the material between Quinn's shoulderblades-- "then I can--" and slams Quinn _hard_ against the table-- "beat the shit out of you later." Another sharp thrust that has Quinn scratching at the felt, taking up streaks of green underneath his nails. "How'd that be?"

"Fucking -- try it," Quinn pants. "Fucking do it."

"Christ, you're tough as nails." Geils takes a pause to pant and simply hold steady in Quinn; he rests his hands on either side of Quinn's hips and gives a hard, rocking, deep thrust, one that makes Quinn jerk against the table. Geils likes that; he gives a few more of those while he's resting, and Quinn presses back against him.

"More like that," Quinn gasps, "come on, Geils, come on..."

"You want to beg for them?" Geils asks softly. He teases his fingers up the length of Quinn's spine, scratching at the back of his neck. "Beg me."

"Please," Quinn asks; it doesn't quite sound like begging, but at least it came out quickly. "More like that, please, Geils."

"Good," Geils says, and he pins the back of Quinn's neck down and rocks in hard. These are thrusts that barely seem to move him; he could keep this up a good long while, without worrying about when he's going to come.

Quinn groans, and shoves up again. "Can't -- Geils -- please -- fuck me, ride me, just go, just _go_ ," he begs, and oh, the tone of his voice is beautiful, and Geils can't resist it. Geils pulls out, enough to give himself a nice long slide back in, and yeah, he's gone, gone completely, the way Quinn told him to go. His eyes close, and he presses forward hard as he comes, growling low in his throat and fisting his hands in the material of Quinn's shirt.

It takes him some time to come back to himself; when he finally does, he loosens his grip and pulls out, a little faster than is likely comfortable for either of them. Quinn jerks and presses up, twisting and turning so he can face Geils again. He's short of breath, but he's not any slower for it; he reaches out and fists a hand in the center of Geils's shirt, jerking Geils up against him.

"Not bad," Quinn growls. "Not fucking bad at all." He crushes his mouth to Geils's, and grabs one of Geils's hands, wrapping it around his cock. "Jerk me off," he orders. "Right here, just like this. Make it good." He drags his mouth to Geils's neck and bites down sharply.

"Yes," Geils breathes; he wraps his free arm around Quinn's back and then jerks his neck away from Quinn's teeth, capturing Quinn's mouth with his again. He gives Quinn's cock hard, demanding strokes, grinning as Quinn thrusts up into his hand. Quinn is nearly raising himself up on his toes now, meeting every stroke with a sharp growl and an answering thrust of his tongue into Geils's mouth. Quinn wraps one hand around Geils's, and bites down hard on Geils's lower lip. When Geils lets out an angry yelp, Quinn bites down harder, and then comes, still thrusting up into Geils's hand.

"Son of a bitch," Geils laughs, shoving Quinn away. They're both winded, now, both hurting, and it's perfect. He puts his hand to his lip, checks for blood -- Quinn wasn't hanging on quite that long, apparently -- and then slings an arm around Quinn's shoulders, laughing again. "Fuck, it's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Quinn gives back; he slaps Geils on the back and then collapses against the table, grinning ear-to-ear. "You gonna tell me what had you tracking me down in the first place?"

"Who says I was tracking you down?"

Quinn gives a pointed look to the lack of people besides him in the room.

"Mm." Geils nuzzles into Quinn's neck. "Nothing in particular."

"It's all right if it's something in particular."

"I know." Geils pulls back again. "I should go. Let you finish your game."

"You should stay," Quinn counters. "It doesn't always have to be about kicking the shit out of each other."

"Some other time," Geils says, shaking off Quinn's offer the way he's done the last dozen times Quinn has made it.

Quinn looks away for a minute, wry grin all over his face. He always knows it's going to get shot down before he even makes it, but he has to try. "Some other time," he agrees, finally. "Take care of yourself, Geils."

"I do. You do the same."

Geils gets himself moderately cleaned up and tosses the condom away on his way out the door. The bartender waves at him as he goes, and he leaves the bar and gets into his car.

He doesn't fasten his seat belt; he doesn't put the keys in the ignition.

 _It doesn't always have to be about kicking the shit out of each other._

His head leans back against the headrest, and he thinks about it. The words _No, it doesn't_ are on the tip of his tongue, before a knocking sound to his right gets his attention.

It's Quinn, at the passenger window of his car. Geils stretches his arm across the seat and unlocks the door, and Quinn steps in.

"Give me a lift home," Quinn says.

Geils grins. "You're gonna owe me."

"I can live with that."

Geils gets the keys in the ignition and buckles up. He keeps grinning as he takes off down the street, and Quinn grins right along with him.


	2. David

Geils wakes up with an arm flung over his chest. Not his own. Someone else's arm. Which is unusual to the point of being nearly alarming. He frowns and opens his eyes.

Quinn. Christ, Geils remembers that now. Quinn came home with him last night, and they didn't fight, didn't fuck, just sat back and shared beer and company and talked until they were tired. And when the end of the night came, Quinn just walked into Geils's bedroom, and Geils didn't say a thing. He watched Quinn undress and moved over to make room for him.

 _It doesn't always have to be about kicking the shit out of each other._

All right, so last night it wasn't. And Quinn spent the night in Geils's bed, and now... Geils doesn't want to kick him out.

 _Shit._

Geils struggles to get himself up, sliding gingerly out from under Quinn's arm. Quinn makes a displeased noise and catches Geils by the wrist. "Where you going?" he mumbles.

"Shower."

"No." Quinn's grip tightens. "Stay. Please?"

Geils hesitates. And he lets Quinn tug him back into bed.

 _Lost,_ Geils thinks, _he who hesitates is lost. And there I am._

"Tell me," Quinn murmurs. "You were about to climb out of bed and tell me to go home, so go on and kick me out."

"Stop it," Geils whispers. "I don't want to tell you to go home."

"Then stop acting as if you're not happy to have me here. Come on." Quinn comes closer on the bed and presses warm lips to the skin on the point of Geils's shoulder. "I want to kiss you."

"This is a very bad idea," Geils murmurs, but he wraps arms and legs around Quinn and lets Quinn roll him to his back.

"Why?" Quinn asks; his lips are still on Geils's shoulder, and now they're working their way up to his neck. "Why is it such a bad idea?"

"Because it's different," Geils says; he groans, a little, as Quinn glides up Geils's neck and sinks in hard with his teeth. "It's not what we do."

"New rules," Quinn suggests. His lips are on Geils's jawline, now, one small kiss at a time until he reaches the point of Geils's chin.

"New rules," Geils repeats. "All right..."

"New rules are there _are_ no rules here. Just me. And you. No rules, no roles, no grandstanding. How does that sound?"

Geils pushes Quinn's hair back off his face and holds it away, maybe a little tighter than he needs to. "Sounds serious," Geils says.

"Yeah, well, _shit_ , Geils. What's wrong with that?" Quinn doesn't try to back away, doesn't let Geils scare him off. "You come into my bar, you talk me into the walls. You fuck me around the room, you let me do the same to you. We come away bruised, we come away hurting, but you know what I like the best out of all that? I like the five minutes after we're done fucking and you talk to me." Quinn struggles to come forward, even though Geils's grip on his hair has only grown tighter. He finally pulls an arm free and braces it on Geils's shoulder. "I liked last night, when it seemed like you let it all _go_ for a few hours." Quinn tosses his head a bit. "Let go, David," he murmurs.

"Fuck's sake, Quinn, nobody calls me David." Geils does let go, though, and his hand strokes its way down the center of Quinn's back. "What is it you want?" he asks.

"You. And don't tell me I don't know what I'm asking for. I know you keep boys. I know you go off to get broken. What I'm thinking, though, is that none of that has to have a goddamned thing to do with us." Quinn lays the palm of his hand against Geils's cheek. "I'm thinking I get tired of being a hit-and-run guy to you."

Geils looks like he's been hit for sure, but Quinn isn't running. Quinn gives a soft snort at the look on Geils's face, and waits for an answer.

And waits. And keeps waiting. He sighs when it becomes obvious Geils isn't going to give him an answer, and begins pulling out of bed.

"OK," Geils says. He grips Quinn's waist hard and doesn't let him leave. "I don't know what else there is, but all right. No more hit-and-run." He hesitates. "You can call me David if you have to."

Quinn shakes his head. "Fucker," he says, not without affection. "C'mon. I know you have a pancake fetish with your boys, so let's get the fuck out of here for breakfast."

"I don't have a pancake fetish," Geils protests, but that's as far as the protest goes; he lets Quinn drag him into the shower, and he grins when Quinn isn't looking.

* * *

When the doorbell rings, Geils gives serious thought to ignoring it. He stands up anyway, stretching as he does, and makes his way to the door.

Quinn stands at the door, box in hands. He shoves the cardboard thing into Geils's arms and grins widely. "Hey," he says. "You take that, and I'll go out to the car for the rest."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm handing you a box, asshole. Take it inside; I'll be back in a minute."

Quinn lets go, then, and it's either take the box or let it drop on the ground. And _shit_ , it's heavy; Geils grunts and takes two steps backward, back into the house, and then walks it into the kitchen, where he puts it on the table.

By the time he gets back to the front door, Quinn's arrived and is carrying a large duffel bag and a garment bag of some kind over one shoulder. Under the other, he's got a smaller, relatively flat, rectangular box, maybe two inches by four inches by twenty, wrapped in shiny black paper and tied with a gold bow. He shoves that into Geils's hands and heads up the stairs, whistling.

"Where the fuck--? What the fuck--?"

"Don't open that until I get back," Quinn calls down, not looking back.

Dumbfounded, Geils simply stares up the staircase, watching as Quinn disappears into his bedroom and then returns a few moments later, minus both bags. "There," Quinn says. He jogs down the stairs and jams his hands into his front pockets; he stares right back at Geils and nods at the package. "All right. Now you can open it."

"What the hell is going on?" Geils asks.

"It's called a _gift_ , Geils. I saw it, I bought it, I'm giving it to you. Open it up. Unless the anticipation's better than the real thing and you'd just like to imagine what's in there for a while."

"Jesus," Geils says weakly; he makes his way back into the kitchen and sits down at the table, shoving the box aside and dropping the gift on the surface. It makes a heavy wooden _thunk_ when it falls, and Quinn snickers.

"It's not going to explode or anything. C'mon. Take a look." Quinn shoves the larger cardboard box aside so he can see the shell-shocked expression on Geils's face and grin. "Open it."

"Fine. _Fine._ " Geils tears at the wrapping paper and reveals a very nice wooden box, which he flips open--

\--and laughs. It's a pool cue. He raises his eyebrows at Quinn. "I thought the days of going out and throwing each other into walls were ending."

"Yeah. And the days of going out and shooting pool and coming home and fucking until dawn are starting up." Quinn's eyes just dare Geils to complain.

"Shit." It's not particularly eloquent, but it's heartfelt; Geils finds himself grinning and shaking his head, and then nodding. "Yeah," he says. "What's in the other box?"

"Boring shit like my files and some books and papers I can't live without. That kind of thing." Quinn shrugs. "I'll need to get my computer over here, but I couldn't think where I'd put it unless I bring my desk, too, and I didn't want to try moving that bitch over without help."

"And you sold your van," Geils says, grimacing. "Know anyone who'd lend us a pickup or something?"

No response from Quinn, at least not immediately; after a few seconds, though, he gets up from his seat across the table from Geils and walks around so he's standing at Geils's side. He cups Geils's face in his hands and then tilts him back, then brings his lips down over Geils's. It's gentle, probably the softest kiss they've ever managed to share, but Quinn's grip is rough and unrelenting, and Geils couldn't break away if he tried.

"You don't have the faintest fool idea what you're getting into, do you?" Quinn asks, grinning lightly; his lips brush Geils's as he speaks.

"Yeah, I do," Geils says in return. "I know what you're doing here." His arms wrap around Quinn's waist. "Do we need to talk about it?"

"No." Quinn lets out a breath and finally relaxes. "No, we don't need to talk, not on my account, anyway."

"All right. The next time you want something this big, you fucking ask first." Geils turns his head and bites sharply at the inside of Quinn's wrist. "But I'll kill you later. You look fucking good this morning, and I want you now."

"Careful." Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "I'm not one of your boys. I'm here because I want to be here. Because I fucking like you. Not here to knuckle under."

"Didn't think you were." Geils stands up. "So fuck me this time."

"Just like that? No force, no fight, no walls?" Quinn looks almost theatrically disappointed.

"I've got boys to fight. I've got a hell of a master to kneel for. You were right about that -- none of that has to have anything to do with us." Geils tugs at the waistband of Quinn's jeans. "I've never done this before," he says quietly. "I don't know how it's going to work -- _if_ it's going to work. But what the hell, right?"

"Yeah." Quinn puts his hands over Geils's wrists and holds tight. "Come on. Upstairs. If we're gonna have an inaugural fuck, it really ought to be in a bed."

"We've never done it in a bed before," Geils points out, grinning.

"All the more reason. Am I going to have to talk you through everything?"

"Yeah, possibly."

"Yeah..." Quinn leans in and kisses Geils, and it's another soft kiss, and Geils finds himself wrapped around Quinn, breathless and wanting, God, wanting _badly_. It's not harsh. It's not rough. It's not brutal. And he wants it.

Geils pulls away first. "All right," he says. "Upstairs." He puts his hands back on Quinn's hips and pushes him backwards.

It doesn't take any further hint; Quinn turns on his heel and heads out of the kitchen, taking to the stairs and tugging his shirt over his head. He looks over the railing at Geils, who's lagging behind a few steps, and tosses the shirt directly at him. Geils snags it out of the air and speeds up, dropping Quinn's shirt and pulling off his own. "Unfair advantage," Geils reasons.

"Unfair my ass." Quinn stops solid and gets his arms around Geils again, this time leaning down to lick his way across Geils's shoulder, hands working at the fly of Geils's jeans.

Geils growls quietly, one hand going to Quinn's hair and tugging lightly, the other to the fly of his jeans and getting them undone. "Bed," he says, propelling them a few steps in the direction of the bedroom.

"Wall," Quinn counter-offers. He nudges Geils toward the wall, steering him by the waistband of his jeans.

" _Bed_ ," Geils insists, tightening his grip on Quinn's hair. "Walls later."

"Promise?" Quinn teases. He lets Geils lead him back several more steps, until his shoulder bumps into the doorframe and he grunts in protest. "Easy," he says.

"Just because I'm not throwing you into the nearest wall doesn't mean it's all going to be easy," Geils shoots back; he gives Quinn another hard push and tumbles Quinn into his bed. Quinn's hands come up to yank at the waist of Geils's jeans, and Geils steps back to take the rest of his clothes off.

Quinn kicks his boots off and slides out of his own clothes, then settles back on the bed and sinks into the pillows. "Nice," he says. "Come on up here."

Geils climbs up on the bed, straddling Quinn's thighs. He wraps a hand around Quinn's cock and draws it up slowly, one-two-three strokes before letting that hand splay over Quinn's stomach and running it up the center of his chest. "Close enough for you?" he asks.

"Almost." Quinn's gaze flicks over to the nightstand; he reaches an awkward hand over and tugs the drawer open. "Real close."

"Yeah." Geils digs out a condom and slides it down Quinn's cock, watching as it makes Quinn arch his back and draw his hands up the bed so he can wrap them around the bars of the headboard. "You think that's something, you just wait," Geils teases.

"Fuck me," Quinn whispers, "fuck me fuck me _fuck me_ , Jesus, you keep teasing me like this and I'm going to fucking _kill_ you..."

"Relax." Geils digs for lube next, kneeling up and sliding two fingers into himself with quick, necessary efficiency and then gripping Quinn at the base of his cock and lining up. "You sure you want it this way?"

"Geils--"

"Because it's going to be different like this. You know that, right?"

"I want it different. That's what this is all about."

"Just checking," Geils says, and he slides down, taking Quinn in to the root and moaning quietly.

" _Jesus_ ," Quinn whispers.

"That sounds about right," Geils agrees, and he starts to move.

Quinn's eyes close, and his hands come off the bedrails to hold Geils's hips, rocking with him in a steady, undulating rhythm. Geils lets Quinn hold him until he catches on, then pries Quinn's hands away from his hips and threads their fingers together, pushing Quinn's hands back against the pillows.

Quinn pushes back until his elbows are flat on the bed and his wrists are at right angles to his forearms; he grunts, rocking his hips up harder, and locks Geils's hands down. "Yes," he whispers. " _Fuck_..."

"Like that?" Geils tries to pull his hands back, and winces when Quinn's fingers keep them intertwined and held down. He presses down harder, speeding up as Quinn's eyes close.

"Geils--" Quinn groans and arches up. " _David._ "

"Fuck," Geils says, and he yanks a hand free to stroke himself off, fast, breath rasping out between his teeth. "Fuck, Quinn..."

"You like that?" Quinn gasps. "David. Fuck me. Come on, _David_ , fuck me..."

" _Shit,_ " Geils pants, and he grinds down hard against Quinn's hips, eyes squeezing shut as he comes, hand still working his cock hard, come falling in trails over Quinn's stomach.

Quinn gets his eyes open just in time to see it, and he raises his free hand to the back of Geils's neck, both hands tightening their grip as he comes, eyes staying open through a hell of a lot of willpower. He needs to keep their gazes locked through it, needs to know Geils isn't looking away.

Geils doesn't. He leans forward, and he presses his lips first to Quinn's shoulder, then his neck, and then up to his lips. Quinn moans quietly, the sound muffled against Geils's mouth, and lets his grip go slack so he can sling an arm around Geils's neck.

"Fuck, David," Quinn whispers.

"...yeah."

"That was..."

"...yeah."

"...I'm staying."

Geils nestles his head into the curve of Quinn's shoulder. "Damn right you are."


End file.
